


Last Line of Defense (The Killed With Kindness Remix)

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean in Hell, Demons, M/M, Mindfuck, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's learned to handle the torture and accept the pain, but he hadn't realized the demons would find another way to break him. They've always known Dean's weak spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Line of Defense (The Killed With Kindness Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Pain...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/118220) by [PhoenixDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon). 



When the demon dug its claws into the flesh of Dean’s shoulders and pulled, shredding skin and muscle, Dean let out a harsh, shuddering breath. The pain felt just as deep, just as fresh as it had on the first day, but years of torture had worn down his reactions to shadowy memories of his former resistance. 

He’d been trained to fight back, born and raised to battle, but Dean knew his war was already lost. Screaming his defiance at the day’s inevitable torture seemed a waste of energy. 

The demon dragged one bloody claw down Dean’s cheek, parting the skin like paper. “Am I boring you?”  
\--

Most of the time, the pain left Dean drowning in his torture-saturated mind. Occasionally, though, the pain crowded Dean out entirely, leaving him to float free of what passed for a body in this place. Then, scraps of consciousness and memory came crowding back: the low purr of the Impala on the highway, the sweet taste of a roadside diner’s cherry pie, and Sam. 

A thousand memories of Sam, a thousand moments together: tossing Sam a baseball in a motel parking lot, hearing Sam’s helpless laugh at Dean’s wretched dancing, feeling Sam’s fist connect with his face after that incident with the waitress in Topeka. The memories anchored him to a place where the pain couldn’t reach—too many protective layers even the demon’s sharp fangs couldn’t tear.  
\--

“I know where you go.” The demon’s breath felt hot against Dean’s neck.

“I can’t go anywhere, you evil bastard.” Dean pulled against his chains for emphasis, ignoring the spike of pain. 

“Do you think you’re broken already?”

Dean looked up and blinked dripping blood out of his eyes. “I don’t look broken to you?”

“You look beautiful.” The demon dug his nails into Dean’s arms, wringing out an agonized gasp. “You are weak, it’s true, but every time Alastair comes to offer you a break, a chance to stop all this pain, you refuse him. Why?”

“Maybe he doesn’t have a good enough sales pitch.”

“You still have something to hold onto. Some tiny scrap of protection that you imagine can save you from losing yourself to this. Is that what you think?”

“What I think is none of your damn business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my boy. It’s my job to see you, and to know you, heart, and soul…” He raked a finger down Dean’s chest, popping the buttons on his shirt as he went. “And body.”

“Hate to break it to you, but my body ended up as hellhound kibble.”

“You don’t need a true corporeal form to experience pain.” The demon’s hand came to rest over Dean’s belt buckle. “Or pleasure.”

“Don’t,” Dean snapped, baring bloodied teeth.

The demon just smiled. “I know what this last bit of resistance is, Dean. I recognize the shield you’re holding. And I will take it from you.”  
\--

“Sammy?” Dean blinked in the dim light of a brimfire twilight.

With jeans, a beat-up hoodie, and that ridiculously scruffy hair, Sam could have been conjured right from Dean’s most treasured memories. In fact… “Is it really you?”

Sam’s rich brown eyes flashed to black. He leaned forward over Dean’s suspended form. “What do you think?”

“Leave him out of this, you sadistic fuck,” Dean growled, thrashing against his bonds.

“I can make you see whatever I want you to see.” The demon waved Sam’s hand over Sam’s face, and flashed Sam’s guileless smile. “And isn’t Sam your little security blanket, anyway? Don’t you wrap yourself up in memories of him whenever you want to get away from me?” 

“I don’t need a security blanket, I need earplugs so I don’t have to listen to your bullshit."

“You do, though.” Sam’s face became concerned, the black eyes wrong in that soft expression. “You need the comfort of knowing you did the right thing. You tell yourself you did it all for him, that you _saved_ him.”

“If you’ve hurt him, I’ll—“

“You’ll what, Dean? I already have your soul. You’re mine.” The demon ran Sam’s hands up Dean’s sides, his touch-feather light, leaning in close. Dean braced for a blow that didn’t come. “And without you, there’s no one to keep young Sam from giving in to his darker nature, to the desires that he doesn’t talk about.”

“What are you—“

The demon shoved its tongue in Dean’s mouth, silencing him. The taste—the same toothpaste they’d shared since they were kids—sent Dean pulling away, struggling hard against the sharp restraints that tore into his flesh. 

“Shh,” Sam’s voice whispered against Dean’s cheek. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Just relax.” He placed gentle kisses along Dean’s jaw until he jerked away.

“Stop screwing around. If you’re going to torture me, just get out the knives and hooks.”

“Sam doesn’t want to torture you. Pay attention.” The black eyes flickered back to brown. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.” Sam trailed a hand down Dean’s bare chest. 

Dean lifted his head to watch, expected to see welts and open wounds: the evidence of years of torture. Instead, his skin looked whole, though marred by a collection of scars, some jagged and pink, from recently healed injuries, others faded to pale, so old Dean couldn’t remember their origin.

Sam traced one with a finger. “You got every one of these fighting Dad’s war.”

“I didn’t fight for Dad.”

“Who, then?”

Dean squeezed his eyes closed and reminded himself that this demon was not his brother. 

Sam leaned down and pressed a kiss over Dean’s tattoo. “That’s what I thought.”  
\--

Dean had resolved not to speak when the demon came to him this way: wearing the guide of his brother like a tired suit. But the instinct to give Sam what he wanted—the remote control, the last of the fries, the answers to a million annoying questions—ran deep, and Dean found it harder to resist than he’d ever imagined. 

Especially after the demon had stripped off his pants, leaving Dean totally exposed, and grabbed hold of his cock, stroking it firmly and confidently, as if he knew just how Dean liked it.

“I’ve seen you do this,” Sam said as his hand worked on Dean. “When you thought I was asleep, I watched you. No one could sleep through the noises you make. Like a porn star.”

“Stop.” Dean meant to put the snap of command in his voice, but it came out more like a moan. He bit back any other protests before he could humiliate himself further.

“Would you really tell me no? You said you’d do anything for me. Besides, I know you want this just as much as I do.” Sam ran his thumb over the weeping head of Dean’s cock, making his hips jerk up in an involuntary search for more contact. “See?”

“Demons lie,” Dean gritted out.

“You know that’s not exactly right.” Sam twisted his hand, wringing a whimper out of Dean. “Dad told us demons always speak some truth.”

“No,” Dean growled, but he remembered his father’s words. He leaned back, as if he could get away from Sam’s words, Sam’s touch.

Sam followed, dropping over Dean, bracing himself with one hand to keep up his expert stroking. “Every time I look at you, I want to push you to your knees and get that smart mouth around my fat cock. I want to grab that ass you’re always shaking around, bend you over and fuck you until you scream my name. I want to be so deep inside you you’ll never get me out.”

With a helpless scream, Dean spilled his release into Sam’s hand. He gulped in great sobs of air as Sam held him through the aftershocks.  
\--

“Don’t be gentle,” Dean snapped. Every day, every visit from the demon had meant pain, until he’d begun to appear as Sam. “Come on, hurt me.”

Sam’s eyes looked up from where the demon stood between Dean’s spread legs. His fingers twisted slowly, languidly inside Dean, where they’d been working him open for the past twenty minutes. “Would that make it easier for you? To make me the bad guy?”

“You’re a freaking demon,” Dean said, but it sounded tired, even to him. 

“You’ve never given up in a fight, and now you want to play the victim?”

“I don’t want this.”

“Now who’s a liar?” The demon crooked his fingers inside Dean, sending a bolt of pleasure up his spine. Dean’s hard cock twitched against his belly. 

The demon pulled his hand out and wiped it on Dean’s thigh. He cradled Dean’s jaw in his hand and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips before nuzzling along his cheek to whisper in his ear. “If you won’t play this game with me, I will play with your brother.”

“You can’t.” Dean made himself take a deep breath to slow the sudden racing of his heart. “I saved him. He’s safe.”

“Dean. Do you think your soul— _yours_ \--is enough to buy his safety forever?”

Dean’s eyes drifted shut, but he couldn’t block out the smell of Sam’s skin, the sound of his breathing that Dean would know anywhere. Dean knew his own value, and he knew that whatever he had to offer was a poor trade for what Sam was worth. His head moved once, shallow and quick, left to right.

“Good boy.” The demon patted his cheek. “Now let me in.”  
\--

Dean had tried retreating, when the feel of Sammy spearing him open, fucking into him in long, powerful thrusts had been too much. But the memories he’d wrapped himself in before held no comfort for him now. In every memory of Sam, his eyes would turn black, he’d reach for Dean, and then Dean would open his eyes, back under the demon’s claws, just him against the pain with no hope of retreat.

“Dean? Dean, look at me.”

Sammy’s rich brown eyes, his crooked smile met Dean’s gaze. “This is what broken looks like.”


End file.
